A Wonderful Man
by bruce2112
Summary: Corpse Bride movie prequel: Young Emily reflects on her life and early years as she waits for her 'wonderful man' in the dark forest. The Corpse Bride's life story before she became a corpse: romance, passion, and murder most foul ...
1. Departures

**Chapter 1: Departures**

Emily hummed nervously as she packed her bags. She had looked forward to this day, right from when she was a little girl. And now it was here.

She sighed. This was going to be the most wonderful day of her life and yet her heart ached, too. Daddy was going to be heart-broken - as well as angry. She had tried talking with him … pleading with him, in fact … but nothing had worked, so there was only this one way left.

Emily sighed again. She had put off this moment as long as she could. In her mind she had written and re-written the note a dozen times, but it was finally time to commit the words to paper. Time, at last, to say what had to be said...

She went to her father's study, sat down at the large wooden captain's desk and pulled out a clean sheet of writing paper. The inkbottle and pen were in their proper places, of course - her father was a meticulous man - and she quickly set everything that she needed out onto the desk. After a few seconds of thought, she dipped the pen in the ink, blotted it carefully, and began to write:

_"Dearest Daddy,_

_Please forgive me but by the time you read this letter we shall be married. Bart is a wonderful man and I'm sure that once you get to know him like I do that you'll love him too. He has to take care of some business so we'll be gone for a few days but will be back as soon as we can. I hope that you can forgive us for disobeying you, but I know that we are meant to be together. Please don't be too angry. Love forever,_

_Emily & Bart"_

She signed the letter with care, paused to read it, and then she re-read it again. A tear welled up in her eye. God she hated to do this to him, but he had been so unreasonable about Bart, and she'd tried everything else.

After another long moment or two, she put the writing things away and then walked over to the nearer window, where she pulled the key from its' hiding place. Daddy wasn't going to be happy about this, either...

Emily wondered if she was doing the right thing. Then the girl shook her head (how silly she was), of course she was, it was hers anyway. The money for her dowry that he had been laying aside for this purpose for years … and the jewels would be returned as soon as they were no longer needed.

She smiled. How lucky she was to have a man like Bart in her life!

It took only a minute or so to remove what she needed from the strongbox, double check the amount, and then lock it back up again and re-hide the key. When she lifted the satchel, the effort made her grunt. Boy, she thought, money sure is heavy. Too bad it couldn't be made from something lighter...

The grandfather clock chimed the hour, and she jumped. Eleven o'clock already! Less than an hour now before they were due to be on the ship and in the morning it would sail with them aboard, bound for an exciting new life together. She giggled with joy. This was it!

Emily placed the satchel by the door, and then crept into the other bedroom. This was going to make Daddy unhappiest of all…

She went to the closet where the wedding dress was hanging, pulled it out, and returned to her own bedroom where she removed it from the bag and spread it out on her bed.

It was an exquisitely beautiful thing. Made of pure white silk and studded with pearls, the antique wedding gown was a work of art. It had been, of course, her mother's and was Daddy's most prized possession; only on the most special of occasions had Emily been allowed to take it out of its bag to admire it.

Daddy had promised her … the dress was going to be hers someday. He had told her many stories about her mother, and her favorite ones had been about their wedding. Of how they had been married on the deck of her father's ship on a warm, sunny afternoon, her mother wearing this very gown.

She slipped out of her clothes and, for only the fourth or fifth time in her life, Emily put the wedding dress on. The silk felt smooth and cool against her skin, and she marveled at the fine needlework: thousands of tiny stitches - every one perfect; the gown had taken somebody months of hard work to make.

How long it had it taken Daddy to pay for such a masterpiece? Even on a sea captain's income a long time, she guessed.

The fit was perfect: he had told her many times how much she looked like her mother - and she seemed to be Mother's exact size, too. But that wasn't a great surprise, for Mother had also been eighteen years old when she had worn it to her own wedding.

Emily walked over to the mirror and studied her reflection. The dress looked good on her - very good - and she twirled about, admiring it from every angle.

She started her inventory at the top. With her hair. Long, dark, and thick, she had inherited that from her father. His own hair was still jet black, but the gray was just beginning to creep in along the mutton-chop whiskers that he wore. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to worry about _that_ for awhile...

The high, round forehead - that was also Daddy's. But everything else came from Mother.

The eyes. Emily sighed. Large and dark, they dominated her face and there were many, many times that she had wished that they were smaller, especially when the other children had teased her about them. But, her father had promised, she would 'grow into them' and, eventually, she did. Now they were her most striking and attractive feature. And it helped whenever he reminded her that they were just like her mother's.

Nose, mouth, and chin: those, of course, were all Mother's, too. So much so that she would sometimes catch her father looking at her sadly and realize that he was see his long-dead Martha's face instead of her own. But it was an attractive face, and she was grateful for that: in a time when a girl's looks counted for so much, a pretty face was a blessing, indeed.

Emily's gaze swept downward. The style of the dress was somewhat out of fashion now, the trend moving towards covering up more and more as the last few years had passed. It was on the verge of being out of style, but it still looked good. Even if it did show just a little more than the current fashion dictated. She tugged upward upon the bodice of the dress, then blushed slightly and giggled.

It was time to go.

With some reluctance, she pulled herself away from the mirror and took one last look around the cottage to make sure that she hadn't forgotten anything. The note she placed carefully in the center of the kitchen table - arranged so that Daddy would find it when he came in. By that time, she and Bart would be safely gone.

On her way towards the door, the piano caught her eye, and she took a minute or two to 'visit' with the old machine.

Emily closed her eyes and spread her fingers upon the worn keys. And then she played - a slow, sweet romantic melody. The tones that poured out of the piano were rich and mellow: a gift bestowed by the piano's considerable age and years of expert, costly, care. Her 'best friend' Emily thought, and then she corrected herself. Other than Bart, of course, and Daddy…

She savored the way the delicately balanced keyboard 'talked back' to her fingers. A fine piano felt every bit as good as it sounded, and she loved the feel and the sound of this one.

"So long, old friend," she whispered as she stood up to leave. "I'll be back soon." Then she gently caressed the top of the instrument and carefully pulled the cover down over the keys.

She grunted again as she bent down and lugged the heavy satchel outside. One last glance back inside, and then she carefully closed the door and locked it with her key.


	2. The Road Ahead

**Chapter 2: The Road Ahead**

"Ouch!" It was the fourth time so far. Four times that, stumbling along the path in near pitch-black darkness, Emily had stubbed her toe on something.

Bart was a sweet man, but ... why, oh, why! ... did he have to insist on having her do this at night? And what about the dress? Daddy would just _kill_ her if something were to happen to it...

She wanted to wait until early morning just after light, but he didn't want to. 'What if your father comes back early?' Bart had asked. 'We can stay on the boat overnight - in separate cabins, of course - and we won't have to worry then about being late for the sailing.'

Easy enough for him to say that, Emily grumbled to herself, he doesn't have to haul this heavy thing around.

But, at long last, she reached the old oak tree, her favorite spot and meeting place. "Finally," she grumbled again. That bag of gold was _heavy_...

Emily set the bulging leather case down, and then she took off her cloak and carefully placed it on the rock beneath the old tree. She was glad that the night wasn't too cold, otherwise she would've had to keep wearing the thing and wait the whole time on her feet: there was no way that she was going to take any chances with an antique silk wedding dress. Carefully, she sat down upon the covered rock and pulled the edges of the cloak around her knees.

A few minutes later, the low, deep, melancholy note of a foghorn filled the misty night air. On the foggy nights like tonight, it did this three times an hour - handy for keeping track of time, but, hopefully, Bart would not be too long.

Now that she had some time to think, Emily spent some of it mulling over the plans. It was going to be a busy few days - first their wedding, and then the business errand that they had to run.

Daddy didn't much care for her fiancé right now, but he'd be sure to come around once he saw how good a head her man had for business. Bart had told her about this opportunity and it seemed like a good idea to her.

Bart knew a lot of people and had a lot of friends: one of them had inherited a house from his uncle - he had planned to sell it, but there was a mortgage against it. Unfortunately for him, the term was fixed, so he couldn't do it, even if it was worth a lot more than the amount of the loan.

So Bart had arranged for them to buy the loan. A good investment backed by the value of the house, he said, and they would get it back with interest plus a share of the profits when the house sold. All of his own money was currently invested but, luckily for them, there was just enough in her dowry to cover the amount...

She had wanted to tell Daddy about the deal, but Bart thought it would be a better idea to just surprise him and show him the money after they made it.

Emily sighed. Money stuff was boring and she was glad that Bart was good at handling it. She'd rather think about the wedding plans, anyway.

Tomorrow afternoon the ship's captain would marry them on deck just like her parents had done. Oh, how romantic! The very thought of it was nearly enough to take her breath away, and she giggled with delight...

The foghorn sounded again. Midnight! It was midnight already, and Bart should be arriving at any moment.

But he didn't. The young girl tried hard not to worry, but it was very dark and the moon wasn't out that night. What if he had fallen and hurt himself?

Now she was wishing that she had insisted on meeting him back at the cottage. But ... he could be stubborn when he wanted to be. Maybe a few years of marriage - and a few children - would change that.

Patiently, she waited. And waited ... the foghorn boomed…


	3. Memories of Auntie

**Chapter 3: Memories of Auntie**

And now he was an hour late. Emily had gone from annoyance to worry and was starting to swing back towards annoyance again. Where could Bart be?

For a fleeting crazy moment she wished that Daddy were here to talk to her. Then she laughed out loud - if he was here, she wouldn't be. She wondered what Auntie would have thought about this. Nine years had passed since Emily's aunt had died, but she still felt the loss...

XXX

"What's wrong, Auntie?" young Emily had asked. She was only nine, but wise enough to know that something wasn't right.

The older stick-thin woman stirred on her couch. "Wrong, dear? What do you mean?"

The little girl said nothing and an awkward silence passed between them.

Auntie sighed, looked down at herself, and laughed weakly. "Oh, I just got tired of being so fat. That's all..."

Emily wasn't convinced. "But when are you going to get better?"

Auntie closed her eyes and slumped back on the couch. She took a few shallow breaths and then reopened her eyes and leaned forward.

"That's up to the Good Lord Himself, child," she whispered. "But ..."

"But, what?" Emily asked.

"There's a surprise coming tomorrow. Don't ask - you'll find out then."

Emily knew that tone of voice. She'd have to wait 'til tomorrow.

"Okay," she said. Then she looked at her Auntie and smiled. "Cuddle?" she asked hopefully. The older woman smiled back and held out her arms. "Come here, Em," she said. "Just be careful, Auntie's not feeling the best, today... "

The surprise, as promised, arrived the next day. She had hoped that it would be a pony, or a piano, or something else fun, but, when the coach came by and disgorged its passenger, it was only her father - home for another one of his occasional visits

"Hello, Emily," he said formally. "How is your Aunt Margaret today?"

She looked up at the tall man in the white captain's hat. "She's on a diet," the little girl answered. "But I liked it so much better when she was still fat."

A strange look passed quickly across his face. "Indeed? Well, let's go see." He turned and walked briskly towards the cottage and let himself in, daughter trotting along behind him.

His sister was sleeping on the couch. Or some thing that looked like her was...

"_Judas Priest_," he whispered. The skeletal figure stirred, opened its eyes and smiled.

"Walt," Margaret smiled weakly at her younger brother. "I knew that you'd come."

"My God, Meg..." he whispered again. Then he moved forward quickly and kissed her on the forehead. "I never knew..."

Auntie had smiled, had told him that it was okay, and then she looked past him to where Emily was standing by the door of the cottage.

Her father turned towards her. "Go outside and play," he ordered. "And close the door behind you."

She did, of course. But Emily also knew that the window by the couch was always kept open, so she crept quietly around the corner of the cottage and found herself a comfortable place to sit. She was quick enough that she didn't have to miss a single word...

"But you said in your letter that it wasn't cancer," came her father's softly spoken voice. "I know a good doctor..."

Emily had to listen really, really hard to hear Auntie's reply.

"It's diabetes, Walt. There's no cure for that, either - but at least it's not cancer..."

"The 'wasting disease' ...?" Her father's words passed heavy and flat through the air.

"It's not so bad. I haven't been this thin and trim for forty years."

"Meg! Please - that's not funny…" her father scolded.

"Look ... I can feel sorry for myself or I can laugh ... I'd rather laugh, if you don't mind," came the whispery reply. Her father said nothing, and Auntie continued. "Walt, I'm so glad that you're back. And that you got back in time - I was afraid that she'd be left alone."

He laughed bitterly. "She might as well be. What do _I_ know about raising a child? A young girl?"

"You'll do fine. You're a good man, Walt."

"But you know my feelings about the subject, Meg. Martha would…"

"Martha's dead and gone, brother dear. You have a responsibility to the girl and it's what Martha would want. Women die in childbirth - they still do, you know. Don't hold it against the child, it's not her fault."

Emily gasped. "_What!?_"

The conversation inside the cottage ceased abruptly and, a few seconds later, the window above her was slammed shut and latched.

XXX

_In the darkness of the forest nine years later another, older, Emily wiped a tear from her eye. Nine years it had been: half a lifetime but …oh god! … That memory still hurt._

XXX

Auntie was much stronger than any of them had suspected; she lingered another week past that day. But her aunt's time eventually came and Emily was summoned to her bedside. Her father's eyes were red...

He left her there and closed the door behind him.

"How are you doing, child?" she whispered. Her voice was so weak that Emily could barely make out the words.

She swallowed hard and nodded, tears forming. "Okay."

The dying woman pushed herself closer. "I want you to promise …"

"What, Auntie?"

"Promise me that you will get along with your father. Take good care of him."

"B-but … " the girl stammered. "He's mean! And scary … "

Margaret closed her eyes and chuckled. "Not to me, he isn't … and you hardly know him. That's just his way … Walt's a good man, Em - you'll see."

"Oh, Auntie!" Emily sobbed.

The old woman's eyes opened once more, slightly. "I'll miss you, child…"

XXX

The day of Auntie's funeral was the longest and the most miserable of Emily's young life. She had never thought that she could cry so many tears and still have more left.

Throughout the long service she held her father's hand tightly and sobbed while he stared stonily ahead. She looked up at him from time to time and wondered why he wasn't crying, too.

After a long, long time - after the last of the other mourners had finally left, he looked down at her and placed his hand gently on her head.

"Do you fancy a walk to the beach?" he asked softly.

She didn't, really, but couldn't think of anything else better to do, so she came along.

It was a longish walk to the beach for a nine-year-old, but eventually they arrived.

They sat down, but her father was not in a talkative mood, so the time was passed silently.

He looked out over the water and a faraway expression came over his face. A tear formed in his eye and eventually it rolled down his cheek.

After a while her curiosity overcame the shyness and she asked him the question that had been on her mind.

"Are you crying for Auntie?"

Her father paused and the faraway expression returned to his face for a minute or so. "I guess we'll both miss her," he said.

"Why didn't you cry at the funeral?"

He grimaced. "It's not done. Men just don't."

"But why not?"

He shrugged and they fell back into silence. For awhile.

"Father?"

He looked down. "Yes, Emily?"

"I'm sorry."

He frowned down at her in confusion. "What in the world are you talking about?"

She tried again. "About Mother."

Now he was really confused. "What do you mean?"

"I killed her and you're mad at me for that... "

He whipped around. "What did you say!?"

"I know it's true," she said in a small, soft voice.

He looked at her in stark horror. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

"She died having me. And that's why you've been angry with me..."

"But we never told ... " And then he remembered. "The day I came back - you were listening to us? Outside the window?"

Emily nodded, eyes wide.

Her father sighed and shook his head. "Then you must have also heard her when she said that it wasn't your fault?"

She nodded again.

Her father looked away for a few seconds, and then he looked at her again. "And … have you _ever_ heard your Auntie tell a lie - even a little one?"

No, she hadn't.

"Well that should settle it, then. I'm very sad that we lost your mother, but very happy to still have _you_."

Emily looked up at him again. "Father?"

He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. "Yes, child?"

"May I call you 'Daddy'?"

Walter turned away so that she couldn't see the tears that were suddenly running down his cheeks. He fought to keep his voice level and calm.

"You can call me anything you want." Then he put his arm around her and she leaned her small head against him and cried some more.

From that day onward, his attitude was different, and the next six years with him were good.


	4. Six Good Years

**Chapter 4: Six Good Years**

_Once again, the booming of the foghorn jarred Emily from her thoughts. Now it was twenty after one in the morning, but the more she concentrated on Bart's lateness, the more she got upset, so she forced herself back to thoughts of the past. Those were a lot more pleasant... _

XXX

She and Daddy moved to the new cottage a month or two after Auntie's funeral. "Too many memories for the both of us," he had said, and he was right. There wasn't a corner she could find that didn't have memories of Auntie somewhere.

The new cottage was nice. And it was next to the beach, so Daddy could go out and look at the water any time he wanted to. Which he did, a _lot_...

For her tenth birthday he took her to Paris. What a strange place! It was very interesting, though, and she liked it a lot. But the best part of her present was waiting for her when she got home.

A piano of her very own.

She shrieked with delight and ran over to hug her father. "Thank you, Daddy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"What?" he asked innocently. Then he pretended to see it. "Oh, that old thing."

It was old. But it had been well cared for and, as she was to find out, this one had a rich, beautiful tone. "Can you play it?" she asked him.

He walked over to it, sat down, and then played a jaunty show-tune. She clapped her hands for joy. "That's wonderful! Play another one, Daddy, please?"

Her father shook his head. "Sorry, Em, I only know the one. But you can learn to play your own..."

And she did. He had a neighbor lady come over for awhile to teach her the basics, and then she grew beyond that and taught herself to play what she liked to hear.

The piano became her refuge and her friend. When the other children teased her because she was 'funny looking' she retreated to it and found comfort in its smooth, friendly sound.

But the 'townies' were mean about other things, too. When they weren't teasing her about her looks, they would give her a hard time about her father. "He's a pirate! He's a pirate!" they would taunt her, and often Emily would be forced to run home in tears.

One night she watched him overhauling his pistols and she decided that she couldn't take it any longer.

"Daddy?" she asked.

He looked up. "What, Em?"

"Are you a pirate? The other kids say you are."

His face hardened. "Do they, now? You don't see me swinging off a gallows, do you?"

Emily shook her head.

"Well, I guess that should answer your question, then."

An awkward silence hung between them.

"No, I wasn't a pirate," Daddy said.

"I hunted them."

Her eyes grew wide. "Did you ever have to kill any of them?"

A flash of anger flickered across his face. "That's not a proper question for a young lady."

He held one of the pistols up to the light and dry-fired it to test the mechanism. Satisfied, he put it down and motioned to her to come to him. He took her by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "But – yes - sometimes it has to be done. Otherwise, the seas won't be safe for decent folk."

A few long moments passed.

"But know this – life is special, and precious, and not to be taken likely."

Then he released her shoulders and he turned away from her. That night he spent a long time at the beach...

XXX

The next day he presented her with a sword-shaped wooden stick and a mask-like thing made out of leather.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Fencing lessons," he answered. "We start today."

Emily wrinkled her nose. "But why? Ladies don't use swords."

"Oh, you never know when knowing how to handle one could come in handy. Maybe you'll have to fend off a ruffian some day."

She still wasn't convinced.

"It's like dancing," he commented.

"How's that?" she asked.

"Well," he answered, "you have to know what your body is doing. And you have to read and anticipate the other's movements." He picked up his own wooden sword and dueled briefly with an imaginary opponent. "Otherwise, you won't know how to respond." He pantomimed a stabbing motion. "Auggh!" he said. "_That_ could have hurt …"

Reluctantly, she put on the mask. After a few tentative jabs back and forth, she forgot her nervousness and got into the game.

After an intense quarter hour, Daddy called for a pause. "See," he said, sweating heavily. "Not so bad, was it?"

Emily lifted her mask, and then she shook her head and grinned. "No, I guess not."

Over the next couple of years, many, many happy hours were spent in swordplay, and she got to be very good with the blade. But she was careful not to let her friends find out about that - it still didn't seem to her to be like a ladylike thing to do. But it _was_ fun …

XXX

There were other surprises, too - she remembered one in particular that had happened on her twelfth birthday. She had gotten the usual presents and such, but afterwards her father took her aside, "Em, I've got something that you'll want to see."

He didn't try to drag out the suspense, but went directly to his bedroom closet and pulled out a large cloth-covered object. He laid it flat on the table and then undid the ties on the bag, but didn't open it. "Close your eyes," he warned. "No peeking."

"Okay," she said, and then Emily squeezed her eyes shut.

She heard the sound of cloth rustling and then her father said, "Open your eyes."

Young Emily gasped.

"Oh, Daddy, it's beautiful! Was it Mother's?"

It was. The antique wedding dress was made with the finest stitching that Emily had ever seen and was sprinkled from bodice to hem in beautiful white pearls.

"May I try it on?" Emily asked hopefully.

Her father shook his head. "You're too small to fit just now, and we don't want to wear it out before its time, do we?"

She shook her head solemnly. "I guess not." She paused. "What time do you mean, Daddy?"

He paused and smiled. "Why, when it's time for you to wear it at your own wedding. That is … if you _want_ to… "

The child's happy shriek answered that question.

XXX

The years passed quickly. Daddy wasn't like the other parents - it wasn't his way to simply order her around or to try to shame her like the other parents usually did to their children. He preferred to talk things out and to explain why. But he wasn't soft - far from it. Walter had been a sea captain – a very good one - and he still carried that air of authority about him. Fair, but very firm…

But things changed when she turned fifteen. In a little more than a few months she shot up by nearly a foot and the look of her face changed dramatically. As Daddy had promised, she "grew into her eyes" and the teasing from her classmates gradually stopped, especially from the boys. The girls ignored her all the more.

And then one day, in an absent-minded way, her father had called her 'Martha'. She didn't mind, but he was quite upset by it.

"I'm sorry, girl," he had apologized to her. "You remind me so much of your mother, it's hard to remember who's who, sometimes."

XXX

From that day on, he kept a growing distance between them that she couldn't bridge, no matter how hard she tried. As much as she liked her looks, she hated the effect that their similarity to her mother's had on Daddy's attitude toward her. And she hated how that resemblance became an ongoing burden to them both – a constant reminder to him of his loss, and to her of how that loss had happened, so many years ago.

It would have been much easier for them both if he had simply re-married and got on with his life, but Daddy had decided long ago that he wasn't interested in anybody else and he preferred to stay in a permanent state of mourning for his wife.

It was easier for him to push his daughter away, so he did.

Eventually, he started going back to sea again. First for short trips, and then for longer ones…


	5. One of the Bridesmaids

**Chapter 5: One of the Bridesmaids…**

_Emily sighed and wiped a tear from her eye. She missed those better times ... _

_Then the foghorn rumbled again: twenty to two already, and still no sign of Bart. She sighed and stretched; the wait was beginning to wear on her and she felt stiff. The rock was not an especially comfortable place to sit…_

_She needed to put her mind onto happier things, so she remembered back to when she had first met Bart... _

For some strange reason - about three months ago - one of her formerly close friends had invited her to be a bridesmaid at her wedding and, after much pleading on her part, Daddy had (finally!) agreed. He knew the family well and he would be coming along with her to chaperone.

All of her friends, so it seemed to her, were now getting married, and she had hoped that maybe his attendance at a wedding would help motivate him to be more interested in finding her a nice husband.

But, even though he kept his distance, he was still over-protective of her - so much so that he couldn't bring himself about to start the search. The lonely days at the cottage had been getting longer and longer, and she was getting tired of waiting, so she decided to take care of the matter herself...

XXX

"What do you mean, you'll be going out to sea again? What about the wedding?"

Daddy shrugged. "Can't be helped, I'm afraid, something's come up. I'll only be gone a couple of days."

"But, Daddy, the wedding!" Emily persisted, "I can't cancel now - I'm a bridesmaid… What will Sally do?"

"Go on with it, I guess. There's no reason why you can't carry on without me, is there?"

That was unexpected. "Are you sure?" she asked warily. "Who will be my chaperone?"

He scratched his head and mulled it over. "I'm sure that you'll be okay on your own while you're there and I can talk to Jack … he'll be going, too … and have him and his missus take you home."

"Okay," she said. But she wished that he could have come, too. Maybe that would have encouraged him to move a little faster on _her_ wedding.

XXX

Sally's ceremony was wonderful, but afterwards Emily found herself alone and with no one else to talk to. All of the other guests were family, or friend, or had someone of their own with them to keep company. Jack and his wife were busy visiting, and would be for awhile yet, so Emily looked about for something to keep busy with until it was time to leave.

Then she remembered the piano. Back when she used to visit with Sally, she used to play the piano that was kept in an anteroom down the hall. No one in the family played it, but Emily had been encouraged to make use of it whenever she came over - Sally's mother liked the sound of it when she played.

The girl slipped down the hall to see if it was still there. She came to the doorway to turn the knob, and paused: the door was already ajar.

That was strange - Sally's family kept a small dog, and it liked nothing more than to chew on piano legs, so the door was always kept closed - it was a firm and rigidly enforced rule.

But here it was, open.

Cautiously, Emily pushed the door further open, and peered inside. The piano was still there, still exiled to its little cell. She took a quick glance around the room, but saw nothing out of place. It was hard to tell, though - the room was dark, lit only by the light spilling in from the hallway.

She carefully pulled out the bench and sat down at the keyboard. As quietly as she could manage, she played a few of her favorite pieces.

Just after the hall clock chimed, she heard footsteps coming down the hall, so she stopped and got up to see who it was. As she'd thought, it was Sally's mother. She assured Emily that, yes, she could keep playing the piano and, no, she couldn't hear it from outside the hall, so it wouldn't be a problem. But supper was to be served shortly…

Emily thanked her, and then she waited till the retreating footsteps faded into the background rumble from the party next door. She played a few more pieces, then decided it would be a good idea to socialize a bit before the meal. She got up, and pushed the bench back under the keyboard, then left the room.

She had made it all the way to the end of the hall when she remembered that she hadn't closed the piano cover - another strict family rule. She stopped and turned to go back …

… and there he was, a tall man, standing quietly just outside the doorway of the little piano room.

"Who are you?" she gasped.

He said nothing, but looked her up and down before answering.

"Ah, one of the bridesmaids," he commented. "So, when will it be _your_ turn, my dear?" Then he smiled.

She was at a total loss for words, so she just stammered something forgettably foolish while he made his way past her, still smiling as he strode down the hall back to the party.

She did her errand quickly, making sure that the cover was properly closed and the door shut tightly and latched. Then she returned to the party.

She had timed it well, having to spend only a few minutes in awkward solitude before the seating was done for the wedding meal. She was escorted to a table towards the back of the large dining room and there she sat down. Emily looked at the empty place next to her where her father should have been - she wished that he could have been there. Not only would it have been nice to have a familiar face to talk to, but also he would occasionally tell things to others that he would never think of telling her at home. Sea captains would often tell the most _interesting_ tales…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Sally's mother. "I hope you don't mind," she said, "but we have a guest here who could use your father's place." Then she ushered the guest (the tall man from the hall!) to the empty seat next to her.

"Ah, my dear, we meet again. It's an honor and a pleasure to meet you." Then he took her hand and kissed the back of it, in the continental way. "My name is Bartholomew … Bartholomew Billings. But - please - just call me Bart."

She blushed. "My name is Emily," she answered nervously. "Emily Barrett. It's a … a pleasure to meet you, too … Mr. Billings."

Please," he said. "Call me Bart." Then he smiled; it was a nice smile.

A half-minute or so later, the food arrived…

The meal passed quickly for her. Bart was good at conversation and some of the stories he told at the table would have rivaled some of Daddy's better ones. Emily was sorry when the meal ended and it was time for her to go. Bart kissed her hand again as he said goodbye to her, and she blushed one more time.

On her way home, she wondered when - or if - she would see him again…


	6. Someone to Talk To

**Chapter 6: Someone to Talk To**

_The foghorn boomed again: two o'clock, now. The air was beginning to get chilly, and the mist was thickening into fog. Emily shivered and pulled the cloak tighter. Her thoughts drifted back…_

XXX

That night of the wedding, Emily got very little sleep - thoughts of Bart kept passing through her head, keeping her wide-awake most of the night.

The next day the lack of sleep caught up with her and she decided that, rather than give in to the temptation to take a nap at home, it would be better if she went for a walk to get some fresh air. Emily had a favorite place that she liked to visit, so she picked up her cloak and headed out for a stroll.

Her destination was about a half-hour's journey away, but the sun was out and the weather was warm and bright; the birds sang in the trees. She wasn't in a hurrying mood and she dallied along the way, so she arrived a bit later than usual.

But the old moss-bound oak tree, being in even less of a hurry than she, was still there and her 'thinking spot' was empty and inviting. It had been her favorite place for many years, and it was where she went when she wanted to go off by herself: to think, relax, or to just settle her mind. Today, she wanted to do all three…

The tree was on the edge of the oldest part of the village graveyard. Here it was overgrown and heavily shaded - almost gloomy - but there was a small clearing near the center of the old part, presided over by the old tree. Most folks avoided this corner of the cemetery, but Emily liked it; for some reason, she felt most at peace when she was here.

Emily pulled out a book (an old favorite of hers) and spread out her cloak upon the ground beneath the tree, making herself as comfortable as she could upon the hard ground.

After a while, she started to doze again but, this time, she decided to let the tiredness overtake her, and she drifted off to sleep.

Emily dreamed of Bart - a very nice dream. At the end of it, she could hear him calling her - and then she woke up.

"Ah, Miss Emily, the bridesmaid," Bart smiled. "We meet again."

Emily gasped in surprise. There he was, standing on the path directly in front of her. She hastily composed herself and blushed.

"Do you come here often?" he asked.

"Y-yes, sometimes," she stammered. "T-this is my favorite spot."

He took a deep breath and looked around. "I can see why," he said. "It's a nice place and quite … private."

She said nothing. It occurred to her at that moment that she was all alone with this strange man, and her heart began to pound. What if he…

"Well, I must be going," he said. "Errands to run, and things to do. Do you come here often?" he asked again.

Emily relaxed and nodded. "Sometimes," she said. "When the weather's nice, I like to come here to read." She paused. "In the afternoons, mostly. After lunch..."

Bart smiled again. "I'll keep an eye out then. Till then, Miss Emily…" He tipped his hat, then turned and walked away.

She watched him until he was gone, then opened the book again. It was one of her favorites but, for some reason, she couldn't concentrate on it, so she snapped it shut, gathered up her cloak, and started for home.

She went out to the tree the very next day. For most of the afternoon, she waited there, but he never showed up and, eventually, she gave up and left. All the way home, she scolded herself for being so silly.

But the day after that she went for another trip to the tree and - this time - a half-hour after she had arrived, _he_ walked by. This time he stayed to talk, they had a nice visit, and she learned all about him.

Bart was twenty-six years old, and a self-employed man of business. He had been on his own since his early teen years, and had been most everywhere and had done all kinds of things. And not only was he interesting - but he was also interested in _her_. She told him her age (eighteen) and all about Daddy and how he was a sea captain who went out to sea a lot. And of her piano, and her music, and of all kinds of other things…

It was nice to finally have someone to talk to, and Bart was good at it - and at listening, too. They had talked until, in the distance, the church bell rang and Emily realized that it was nearly suppertime, and that she had to get home immediately. She bid Bart a quick good-bye, and hurried home.

Daddy was waiting for her there. "How was your old friend, the tree, today?" he asked.

Emily hesitated just a moment or two before she answered. "Fine," she said.

He gave her a strange look, and then shrugged. "I guess we should be eating before too long," he said. "But, I don't feel like supper just yet. I'm going for a walk … be back in an hour."

She assured him that supper would be ready then; he nodded, then put on his white captain's hat and left. Emily watched him go, then she sighed and entered the little house.

As she prepared the meal, her head swirled. Had he suspected? It was highly improper for young unmarried girls to socialize with young single men un-chaperoned, and Daddy had a very strong sense of propriety.

She sighed again. Daddy was not in the habit of going for walks at the supper hour - it was his way of scolding her for the late meal without mentioning it directly. She would have to be careful not to let _that_ happen again...

Over the next few weeks they fell into a routine of meeting two or three times a week. Fortunately, Daddy sailed a lot during the weekdays and that made it easier to get together without him finding out.

From time to time she would think about her secret and feel bad about the deception. One day, Emily had had an idea: perhaps he could come to church one day - then he could meet Daddy and then, over time, she could gradually work him around to a full knowledge and approval.

But Bart shook his head at that: no - couldn't be done, he said. His business dealings always took him out of town on the weekends. And that was that…

But he was able to see her during the week and that was good enough for her - for awhile.

As the days (then weeks) passed, Emily's feelings for him grew, and the day came when she finally had to tell him how she felt.

She still remembered that day … the day was sunny, bright, and warm - and she was lying with her head in his lap under their tree. Emily looked up at him, caught his eye, and smiled.

"I love you," she whispered.


	7. The Trouble with Bart

**Chapter 7: The Trouble with Bart**

He looked down at her. "I love you, too," he said quickly. Then he looked away.

_The horn sounded again: twenty after two in the morning, and still no sign of him. This is it, she thought. I'll give him until the next horn, and then..._

_She sighed again, and turned her thoughts back to him._

Bart was a sweet man, but - oh! - sometimes he could do the most appalling things. Like the time they were walking on their favorite path...

...they were walking along, and the sound of their passing had flushed out one of the small forest animals - a tiny mouse that didn't look old enough to be out on its own yet.

_"Awww_..." she had murmured. "How cute!"

He strode over to the mouse and raised a foot, dangling it over the terrified creature.

"Oh, darling," Emily scolded. "Don't tease the poor thing."

He chortled, a horrid-sounding laugh that she had never heard him use before.

"Oh, my dear, I have no intention of _teasing_ it."

Then he brought his foot down heavily upon the mouse, crushing it instantly, and then he twisted his heel to grind the little corpse further into the dirt.

Her stomach heaved and she almost vomited. "My God, Bart! Why did you do that?"

A strange, almost relaxed look passed across his face. "Well, my mother always said that those things were dirty, and that's what she would've had me do - one less mouse in the world ..."

"Well, I'm not your mother," she said in disgust. She didn't talk to him for the rest of the walk, and she had very nearly decided to break it off with him that day.

But he had apologized for his behavior the next day and she forgave him.

"But don't ever let it happen again," she warned. He promised that it wouldn't, and it hadn't.

If it'd been anyone else but Bart, she wouldn't have given him that second chance, but he'd had a hard life - especially growing up. He had told her some of the things that had happened during his earlier years, and she wondered how he could have coped so well.

Any other man, she thought, surely would have turned bitter with that kind of treatment. But he hadn't and, among other things, she loved him for that.

After they had been seeing each other for a couple of months, the time had come (she felt) to introduce him to Daddy.

"Are you sure?" Bart had asked her.

Emily nodded. "He's beginning to get suspicious," she said. "If he finds out before we tell him, he'll never give us permission to get married."

"And why would we need that?" he asked. "We could just go ahead and do that on our own."

She giggled nervously. "What a strange sense of humor you have, darling."

After few seconds of awkward silence had passed, Bart laughed, too.

Daddy didn't seem to be surprised when she brought up the subject after supper that night.

"I thought there had to be a good reason for all those long walks," he smiled.

So it was arranged, and Bart came by for supper one Sunday night.

But it was a disaster, almost from the start. Daddy could be intimidating, and that night poor Bart got the worst of it, though he did manage to stumble through the meal and make a semi-dignified exit.

"I don't think your father likes me..." Bart had hissed to her on his way out.

"I'll talk to him," she promised. "He'll come around."

"Not very sociable, is he?" her father remarked as they watched their guest disappear.

"Oh, Daddy, Bart was just nervous," Emily said to him quietly, "and you were very hard on him."

"He's a grown man," her father growled. "You don't need to defend him."

Emily ignored his comment: she needed this chat to go well...

She waited for a few seconds - maybe a quarter-minute - and then blurted the question she could no longer hold back.

"So - what do you think of him?'' Emily asked, wringing her hands.

Her father paused and looked into the distance. "Do you want my honest opinion?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she said.

"I don't care for him," Daddy had said. ''Not one bit.''

Emily was shocked. And hurt. "But ... why not?"

He shook his head. "What do we know about him? What about his family?"

"But his family doesn't matter," she protested. "It'll be him I'd be marrying, not his family."

Her father's eyes narrowed. "A little soon to be talking marriage, don't you think?"

She blushed. "Well, not for awhile yet, of course. Not right away."

He continued. "And no one in town knows much about him. Don't you find that just a bit odd?"

Emily ignored that question - she had a more relevant one for him.

"But that's not entirely it, is it?" she asked. "There must be some good reason why you don't like him? When you've only met him once?"

He paused again, and a tense silence passed between them.

"Why?" she persisted.

A few more seconds went by, and then he answered.

"I don't like the way he cuts in and answers on your behalf whenever I ask _you_ something ... I don't like how he evades direct questions. And I especially don't like what I see in his face," he said. "There's a shifty look about him - I don't trust him. Not with you..."

That was too much. "But, Daddy, you don't know him - and you can't judge a man by his ... his _expression_! You can't possibly know what you're talking about!"

Her father's face whitened and she felt a shiver run down her back.

"Indeed," he said icily, through clenched teeth. Then he turned on his heel and walked away - in the direction of the beach...

Emily blinked away the tears that had come suddenly to her eyes. Now he wouldn't be back for awhile, and the conversation - the one that she had so badly needed to go well - had turned out more disastrously than she could have imagined.

She quickly tidied up the supper dishes, went to bed early, and cried herself to sleep.

Bart was still furious when she caught up with him the next day

"I'll show him." he snapped. "Who does he think he is?"

She tried to sooth him. "But he means well, darling, he's just trying to look out for me…"

But that only got Bart angrier. "I really don't need this kind of bother," he continued, "Maybe we ought to quit seeing each other? Is _that_ what you want?"

Her heart fluttered, and then dropped into her stomach. "No," she whispered.

His eyes narrowed and he leaned close to her. "Then, my dear, you have a problem," he said, and he stalked away.

Emily ground her teeth in frustration as she watched him leave. Men!

The trouble with Bart was that, like Daddy, he could be very stubborn. And very unreasonable…


	8. A Familiar Silhouette

**Chapter 8: A Familiar Silhouette**

Emily gave Bart a couple of days off by himself to cool down; in the meantime, she worked on mending bridges with her father.

It didn't take him long to bring up the subject of marriage. "I know that you're more than old enough to be married," he said to her after supper the next night. "And that I've not taken the time that I should have to find you a good husband."

"But, Daddy," Emily objected, "I've already found one..."

"No," Daddy replied. "Not him. Absolutely - definitely - not him."

"But, why not?" she asked again.

"I've told you why not," he answered, shaking his head. "You need someone you can be happy with - somebody ambitious and stable, who can work hard and provide well for you and your children. That's not your friend … it's just not in him." Then he walked away, and the discussion was over.

Emily tried many more times, over the next couple of days, to change his thinking, but Daddy would not budge. His attitude towards Bart, if anything, only hardened.

And Bart was little better. She had never seen him this furious, and it frightened her.

"I won't be treated like this," he raged. "Not by any man - if you can't smarten him up, I might just have to leave this town _empty-handed_!"

The impact of those last angry words hit like a hard slap across the face. Her Bart … going away without her? … Forever?

"No," Emily pleaded. "Please. Don't." She paused, and swallowed hard. "Let's just go away … get married on our own."

Bart gave her a hard look. "You mean - elope?"

Meekly, she nodded.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know about that."

Emily gasped. "But I thought that's what you wanted!" she cried.

"Well," he said. "When your father finds out, he's going to be very angry. No doubt, he'll cut you off - and we don't have the means for supporting the two of us."

She hadn't considered that.

He continued. "I'm doing alright, but I'm a single man - my profits aren't nearly enough to support a wife, too."

Emily's heart sank. That's exactly what her father had said.

Bart stopped talking and stroked his chin. "But there might be a way…"

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's a business opportunity. One that I was going to pass by, but it would be big enough to support us both and to change your father's mind."

That brought some hope back. "What is it?"

"There's a friend of mine," Bart answered. "He inherited a house - a nice one - in the next town over, from his uncle. But he lives out of town, and he'd rather sell it."

"So why doesn't he?" Emily inquired.

"Well, here's the thing," he replied. "It's got a lien against it - not a large one, but still enough to keep him from selling the house. So he's stuck with it."

"What's a lien?"

"Oh, it's kind of like a mortgage - but that's not important. He's offered to sell me the house at a large discount if I was to clear the lien myself. Then we could either rent it out or sell it ourselves."

"That sounds like a great idea," Emily gushed. "Why don't you do that?"

Bart saddened. "If I had the money, I would. But all of my own's tied up already - investments, and such. So I won't be able to take advantage of it - too bad for us."

Emily had an idea.

"Wait," she said. "What if you could get the money?"

He shrugged. "Then there'd be no problem - of course, I'd do it. But where would _I_ get it?"

"From me," she said quietly. "Daddy's been saving for my dowry for years - it's my money."

"No," Bart objected. "I couldn't do that. And the money's not yours until after you're married."

"But you said we'd be getting the money back?"

That was true enough, he nodded.

"Then it'd just be a loan, then," she answered, and that settled that…

"So, now we'll be able to get married?" Emily asked him.

He looked down at her. "Yes," he answered.

Tears of joy came to her eyes, she rushed forward to embrace him, and she wept.

"I can't wait to tell Daddy about our investment," she said to him, as she was leaving.

"No," he said quickly, "Don't do that."

"But why not?"

Bart paused. "We should make it a surprise - show him the results _after_ we've done it. He'll be more impressed that way."

"Okay," she said. That made sense.

Everything would have gone well after that, except that, against the odds, Daddy caught them at the tree the very next day. He had angrily sent her home and Bart away, and then the conversation that she had feared would happen took place.

"That does it," Daddy said. "I want you to never see him again. Or to even mention his name. Ever again."

"Oh, Daddy, please. Give him a chance."

"He doesn't deserve such a chance. And sneaking around behind my back like that? That alone … what were you thinking, Emily?"

She was tempted to mention the investment to him, but she didn't. It wouldn't have made a difference, the mood that Daddy was in…

"Look, I'll be gone this last trip and when I get back I'll call on the matchmaker and find you a proper husband - you have my word on that."

This time, she was the one that stormed off. In tears.

The next day, Daddy left for his sailing trip. He would be gone only for the fortnight, and then it would be too late: he would call the matchmaker as promised, and Bart would be gone forever. So they had made their hasty plans to leave. To book passage on the boat, and to run away and get married.

Now, if only _he'd_ show up…

XXX

_The horn blared again: twenty minutes to three in the early morning. _

'I've had enough,' Emily thought. 'He's not coming.' She gathered up her cloak and pulled it on, then stood up and felt around for the satchel. It was still heavy: the walk back was not going to be an easy one. And the feeble light she'd had to walk by when she arrived was now gone.

She stubbed her toe twice and snagged her dress at least once during the first hundred steps.

At the end of those fifty paces Emily gave up and turned back: she (and the dress) would be better off waiting for the morning light.

The girl picked her way very carefully back to the rock and set the satchel down again on the ground.

Then, somewhere out in the quiet forest, a twig snapped.

She looked quickly to her right and then to her left, and back and forth again, straining to see as deeply as she could into the gloomy darkness.

Was it him? Had he finally come? Her heart, already beating hard - pounded harder.

A familiar silhouette loomed out of the shadows.

Emily was about to greet him, to tell him how relieved and happy she was to see him. Then she heard him laugh - the same horrid sound he had made just before he had murdered the little forest mouse.

And now _she_ was that mouse…

She had barely enough time for one short scream, and then he was upon her.

The last thing she saw was his swift lunge, a sudden starburst of pain in her head, and then everything spun once and her world went black...


	9. Epilogue: The Vow

**Epilogue: The Vow**

When Emily awoke, the morning light was just beginning to break through the thick cover of the forest.

'Strange', she thought, 'I don't feel cold, but I must have fallen asleep. What an awful dream!'

Then she looked about for the satchel, but it was gone - and so was he. It wasn't a dream; it had actually happened - for then she saw the body...

_Her_ body - sprawled under the old oak tree. Horrified, Emily took a closer look at the corpse, at the nasty looking wound on its head.

On her head. She quickly lifted a hand (a phantom hand?) upward. The wound was there also - she could feel it - but it didn't hurt…

With a shaking hand, she reached for her throat and then to her breast to feel for a pulse, a heartbeat - any kind of assurance that she was - somehow - still alive.

But there was none: she was dead - undeniably and incontestably ... dead.

Emily screamed - in terror ... denial ... broken-hearted anger. Her 'wonderful man' Bart … (the bastard!) … had robbed her and killed her. It was only her money he had wanted all along...

In that bitter moment, she saw him for what he truly was - and she had loved him.

Daddy had been right.

She screamed again, a raw cry of grief, and disappointment, and loss. Emily closed her eyes and wailed - for what seemed to be forever - until she heard the dry husky feminine voice behind her.

"If you keep that up, miss, you'll wake up _all_ the dead..."

She snapped her eyes open, and whirled about.

Standing close to her was a very short, stout, friendly looking lady … or something that _had_ been a very short, stout, friendly looking lady - for her visitor was as dead as she now was. Deader, in fact - if such a thing were possible - for this woman's decay had already started.

The girl shivered.

"My name is Plum," the dead lady said. "The Elder sent me to fetch you... "

Emily shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere - I'm not ready to die yet."

"Most folks aren't," Plum sighed. "They're not ready to go... But it's your time, dear."

"I'm not going," Emily insisted. "I'm not going until ... until..."

"Until…?" prompted Plum.

"Until I _get_ married!" Emily cried. "Until my true love comes to marry me. And to take me away from this place!"

Then she quieted and a serious expression came across her face.

"Not until then," she vowed. "I'll wait here forever, always, if I have to. Until that happens."

"Oh, no, child," Plum warned. "Don't say that. Don't wish for that..."

"I do. I swear," Emily said.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt faint and very tired. She had to sit down next to the tree and then, when her strength had ebbed further, she toppled over onto her own lifeless body.

"I swear," Emily mumbled, "to remain here till the end of time until my true love comes ... to take me as his bride ... and to set me free."

Plum looked on in horror as the girl faded before her eyes. "No, not like this… " The dead woman whispered.

Then the last of Emily's strength left her and she felt herself sink into the deepest sleep she had ever known.

The years passed while Emily slept...


End file.
